


Blue is a good colour on you

by ChocoNut



Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [18]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Diverges after 4x1, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Mush, Love Confessions, The night before Joffrey's wedding, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 00:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21170234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: The night before Joffrey's wedding, Septa Donyse tortures Brienne with the dress she is to wear for the wedding. Brienne is irritated...  but only until Jaime gatecrashes her chambers.





	Blue is a good colour on you

“I’ve been told to find you something suitable to wear for the wedding,” the tough and matronly Septa Donyse firmly made it clear, “and I’m not leaving until you’re properly fitted for this dress.”

Feeling as though a thousand tiny daggers were poking into her when the seamstress jabbed her with countless pins, Brienne couldn’t help retorting, “Who, may I ask, has assigned this utterly thankless and impossible task to you?” So thoroughly annoyed, she was, at being subjected to this unnecessary harassment, that she wished she could take Sansa and escape right now and leave this punishment behind.

The septa, without bothering to answer her, spewed out further instructions to the girl who'd been torturing Brienne for a good hour or so. “A little tighter at the waist. It needs to be altered so that her curves are enhanced. A woman’s shape is the loveliest when--”

“I don’t have a woman’s shape,” Brienne hissed, her past with Septa Roelle returning to haunt her. Every passing minute of this horrible night strengthened her doubt that this whole exercise to get her into this monstrosity was Cersei's plan to torment her, the septa’s hesitation to share this information a silent confirmation for her assumption. Since she’d set foot in the castle, Jaime’s twin had wasted no time in making it clear that she despised her, shooting sour glances whenever they ran into each other, throwing sarcastic remarks her way whenever they’d had a chance to exchange a few words. “I’m no lady. I don’t want to be one.”

“There,” said the elderly woman, blissfully ignoring Brienne’s indignation and soon to be out-of-control frustration. “You look lovely, my dear,” she admired, pointing to the mirror, and Brienne, when she glanced at her reflection, could barely recognize herself. A far cry from the look her usual garb gave her, it wasn’t as bad as she’d feared it would be. Jaime, however, would have something to say, for sure, something poisonously critical, something that would sting her for long enough to remember, something to ensure he insulted her.

_ You’re much uglier in daylight. _

His opinion of her had come out loud and clear, and to her dismay, while it had no effect on her when he’d said it, off late she’d been recalling it night and day, wishing he wouldn’t have found her this undesirable, imagining and dreaming up countless situations where he admired her, appreciated her, called her his beauty.

_ I am not attracted to him, _ she firmly decided, _and I’m not going to hand him a chance to mock me. _

“I can’t wear this,” she refused, picturing his critical smirk, then proceeded to unhook the belt on her waist.

“It’s a wedding,” protested the exasperated woman, “tunics and breeches would be inappropriate, unbecoming of a highborn lady like you-”

“I’ve told you, this isn't who I am--”

A knock distracted her, bringing their squabble to a temporary halt, and the seamstress made for the door, revealing their untimely visitor to be Jaime. 

Brienne’s immediate instinct was to get away from his sight before he could spot her like this, but sense prevailed, and she managed to keep her composure. “Ser Jaime,” she greeted him, his presence making her want to dart under the bed and hide from him forever.

His eyes swept all over her, absorbing her unusual clothes, but he made no comment, acknowledging her greeting with a short nod, and an extremely polite, “Lady Brienne.” 

Unable to meet his eye, she tossed him a stealthy glance. He was in his night clothes - trousers and a shirt that hugged his broad chest, enhancing his well-built frame and achingly prominent muscles. That it was open at the chest to tease her with a patch of skin kissed by a perfect smattering of hair didn’t help ease her predicament, the tantalizing visions her consciousness frequently created returning to inflict her with more discomfort.

“Here she is, my lord,” the septa said, proudly showing him her handiwork. “The dress is as per your specific request and so is the colour,” she went on, and Brienne stared at him, the revelation that this was all his idea leaving her stunned beyond measure. “She looks lovely, doesn’t she?” she added, smiling in appreciation. “As you rightly pointed out, it does bring out her eyes.”

Jaime drew in a sharp breath, then refusing to look at her, he addressed the septa, “Thank you. I’d like to have a word alone with the lady, so if you could--”

“Very well, my lord.” 

The two women cleared the room and shut the door behind them, leaving her alone with Jaime, an unexpected encounter she wasn’t mentally prepared for.

Not wanting to face him, Brienne turned immediately to the mirror, finding no better way to avoid him than to busy herself with examining her reflection. Her breasts were too small, she observed, appearing to be even more so in this chest-hugging dress, and her shoulders too broad. Her neck was long and disproportionate, and so was her--

Her self-criticism lost its way when Jaime appeared right behind her, gazing at her reflection, standing just inches away from her. “You look nice,” he whispered, “like a lady--”

“I’m no lady,” she snapped, his sarcasm driving her to the edges of her tolerance, disturbing her more than she thought it would, injecting her mind with thoughts of him she’d rather keep at bay. “I know you think of me as the ugliest creature alive,” she went on, her voice wobbly and unstable, “and I know you enjoy taunting my looks, but this--” she paused to search for the right words “--sending her to dress me up in something that I’m unfit for--”

“It’s perfect,” he said, stepping closer, his eyes boring into hers in the mirror.

He was joking. He _ had to _ be. It could mean nothing else, but another manifestation of his bitter sense of humour. “You didn't have to do this,” she said, lowering her tone, “you didn't--” He touched her shoulder, and she froze, accidentally nipping her tongue. “Ser Jaime,” she said, alarmed that she sounded so breathy and girlish, “I know you don’t really think much of me--”

“It’s perfect,” he told her again, wrapping his stump-arm around her waist. “Blue is a good colour on you, my lady,” he suggested, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a warm smile completely devoid of sarcasm or mockery. “It goes well with your eyes.”

Breathless, she didn’t know what to make of the unanticipated compliment and stood mute as a doorknob, delighted that his words meant praise and not the insults she’d been prepared for, yet not having the confidence to accept that any man could look upon her as a desirable creature as against the hideous beast she’d been repeatedly told she was. His presence tonight made matters worse for her nerves, which, since their eventful journey together had come to an end, were in a state of disarray, her mind and heart perpetually confused, perennially in a state of turmoil, the reason for her condition the handsome knight she’d grown to respect and adore, a reluctant, but unavoidable replacement for Renly. 

For days she’d been battling her heart, clinging on to Renly as an escape route and closing her gates to Jaime, wishing him away, keeping him at the doors, but she’d failed, and miserably, that too. She’d fared so poorly, that he’d not only managed to barge in, but also completely dominate her senses and her mind, leaving her thinking deep down of him even in moments of concern for Sansa. Hard as it was for her to admit, he meant the world to her. She had grown to care more for him than anything else, she’d fallen in love with him, spending every single minute of her stay in his house dreading the day she’d have to part company with him.

He gently turned her around, then gathered her in his arms. “When I entrusted Septa Donyse the responsibility of dressing you, little did I know that--” His hand wandered across her shoulder and to her neck, and he jerked her face towards his, his lips ghosting hers. “Little did I know, Brienne, that she’d do so marvelous a job, that I’d be left stunned and astounded and--” he pressed a soft kiss to her lips, blinding her, bringing the world around her to a blurred mess “--absolutely, hopelessly and utterly mesmerized. Totally smitten.”

“You’re being overly dramatic,” she croaked, unable to believe that he’d _actually _kissed her, “you don’t mean--”

He kissed her again, and properly this time, exactly like in her shameless dreams, his lips doing the talking, telling her _ precisely _what he meant, his tongue showing her how much he wanted her. His wandering fingers rode up her back, kissing the nape of her neck, playing with her hair, proving to her that every word of insult he’d hurled at her was a thing of the past, his attraction to her the firm and current truth. She kissed him back, glad that he reciprocated her feelings, elated that, for once, she didn’t have to pine for the man she loved from afar. The world was left behind, and so were their cares for these few precious moments. He was the only one that mattered, his mouth bound to hers, his body intertwined with hers, his hand all over her, teasing her, exploring her, feeling her… Sighing softly, she clung to him in an embrace she’d never let go, taking in each and every hungry kiss he attacked her with, giving him a taste of the passion that had been simmering within her. 

The way they were going, they would’ve kissed away the night, everything else be damned, but Cersei’s beautiful face invaded her thoughts, cruelly making its unwelcome presence felt in her happily contented mind, and she withdrew, their future and their inevitable separation crawling into her, forcing her to keep him away.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, lines of concern creasing his forehead. “Do you not feel the same for me?”

“I do,” she confessed, the truth, at last, off the safe confines of her mind. “I love you, but--”

“I love you, Brienne,” he stopped her with a gentle flick of his thumb across her cheek, “and you love me. Does anything else matter?”

“I--” She struggled to find words to describe the awful feeling of inferiority that hit her every time she thought of Cersei. “I’m ugly, you’re handsome and your sister--she’s so pretty--” she cried, agitated. “We’re a mismatched pair and I'm--”

“You’re beautiful, Brienne, never forget that. In my eyes. Nothing else matters. No one else does,” he complimented before she could finish, his voice oozing affection and sincerity. “So captivating you look tonight that you’ve managed to reduce me to a hopeless idiot in love, dreaming of the day we marry, of our wedding night--”

“Wedding night?” she blurted, wondering if she’d heard him right, her mind beginning to conjure vivid images of what such an experience would be like.

He drew her into his arms again. “That’s what follows a marriage, Brienne,” he explained, his breath making her dizzy with want, “unless you don’t want to--”

“I never said that,” she shyly interrupted, lowering her face so he could kiss her again, transporting her once more into a state of bliss. “It’s quite late, Ser Jaime, and you have a busy day tomorrow, so why don’t you return to your chambers and try and get some sleep?” she said, once they’d broken the kiss, though not having the heart to part with him tonight.

He seemed to have read her mind, for instead of releasing her, he pulled her closer, his hand creeping to her back. “Pretty, though it is, this dress appears to be quite complicated,” he observed, fumbling with her laces, “and I’m sure you’d need some help to get it off.” He gave her an impassioned look, the longing in his eyes making her go weak in the knees. “Since none of the maids are around, why don’t I--”

“I'd very much appreciate your help,” she jumped at his offer with an eagerness that surprised her, then upon realizing what her words truly implied, what she’d given him the consent for, she dropped her gaze, focusing on his boots instead of his fiery eyes.

“Glad to be of service, my lady,” he whispered, then raising her chin, he pulled her in for another kiss. While his mouth unleashed its magic on hers, he busied himself with her laces, his fingers undoing them at an excruciating pace, slowly and steadily, one by one...

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
